


nothing more

by criminalhotch



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Angst, M/M, Mention of sex dreams, Moreid, Sad, Sad Ending, Unrequited Crush, kinda nsfw, mention of mastrubation, mentions of drug abuse, sorry :(
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-09
Updated: 2020-10-09
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:54:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26726266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/criminalhotch/pseuds/criminalhotch
Summary: an unsuccessful attempt to wind down after a case goes heart-wrenchingly wrong
Relationships: Derek Morgan/Spencer Reid
Comments: 5
Kudos: 34





	nothing more

**Author's Note:**

> in which i mediocrely write angst and abuse italics :)

The waitress waits for a moment as they scan over the laminated menu, her attention on Derek undivided as she watches him figure out what he wants for dinner.

Spencer reads his options three times through, remaining undecided as he glances back at Derek. The older man has his eyes set on the menu; if he notices the waitress staring, he doesn’t show it, instead choosing to look over at Spencer, raising an eyebrow. _What are you going to get,_ his expression asks. 

Spencer shrugs. He isn’t in the mood for food right now, his appeal for something to fill his growling stomach overshadowed by the imprints of dead corpses against his eyelids. He’s forced to recall their mangled figures every time he blinks and not for the first time, curses his eidetic memory. 

Derek’s appetite, on the other hand, seems unfazed as he orders a burger and fries before directing his gaze back to Spencer. “What about you, Reid?” He asks, always the gentleman. 

“Can I have a coffee and a basket of fries, please?” Spencer orders, his gaze trained on the menu in his hands instead of the waitress as he hands it to her, his hands trembling. 

“You okay, Reid?” Derek asks after the waitress has moved out of earshot. “You seem more…”

“Nervous?” Spencer helpfully fills in the blank for Derek, not at all surprised with his hypothesis. Derek’s an expert profiler, probably the best on the team and Spencer is as readable as an open book on a good day. 

“Yeah, more nervous than usual. You know we caught the guy today, right? Hell, you were the one who put together his last clue. You connected his letters to the police and figured out where he was keeping the girls _on your own_. You solved the case, Spence, so what’s wrong?”

Spencer takes note of the nickname. It’s the third time Derek has ever called him ‘Spence.’ The first time being 13 days ago and the second, a more recent 3. Spencer doesn’t mind it. If he’s being honest, he relishes in it; his heartbeat picks up and he can hear thumping in his chest. He swears the organ is whispering ‘ _spencespencespence_ ’ to him in Derek’s deep, guttural voice and he never wants it to stop.

“Spencer.” He’s knocked out of his thoughts by Derek calling his name, the older man’s brow furrowed and Spencer can see his concern.

“Um, sorry, just thinking.”

Derek chuckles, a good, light-hearted laugh that reassures Spencer and keeps him tethered to reality. He’s always had a habit of chasing his thoughts and then finding himself floating away from the present, enchanted by his own ideas and revelations, but Derek can keep him tied down, can help him focus on what’s right in front him. It’s a unique skill only Derek Morgan has been able to master.

“You sure, kid?” 

Spencer flinches at the name. He knows it’s a form of endearment; Derek isn’t being patronizing or talking down to Spencer on the account that he’s older, he’s just having some fun. But Spencer can’t help but feel a pang in his chest and look away. 

Derek’s mouth opens to say something, probably to probe Spencer for an answer about his behavior, or to pester him with questions and send him worried looks until Spencer’s resolve crumbles and he confesses everything right then and there, but the waitress is back with Spencer’s coffee so his thoughts don’t leave his lips.

“Here’s your coffee. Be careful it’s hot.” The waitress places the mug in front of Spencer before turning her back to him, her eyes glued, yet again, to Derek. Spencer can’t blame her. If he were able to unabashedly gawk at his coworker, he definitely would. “Your food will be out in a few.” 

Derek smiles his signature 100 watt smile and a poisonous thought in the back of Spencer’s mind wishes it were directed at him. _If only he looked at you like that_ , it says. _Maybe if you were prettier. Or a girl._

 _Shut up,_ Spencer replies back. 

He moves his gaze away from the two, choosing to start dumping sugar into his drink in hopes of distracting himself. He loves coffee, he practically _lives_ off it but it doesn’t taste as good without the familiar pound of sugar stirred in. 

“I think you can slow down on the sugar, pretty boy.” Derek says, interrupting his conversation with the waitress as Spencer reaches for his sixth packet. “That’s a lot, even for you.” Derek reaches for his hand to stop him but Spencer sharply snatches his arm away. He feels guilt curl up in his gut at Derek’s widened eyes and surprised, hurt expression but shoves it down when he remembers the burn he felt from the contact. _There are feelings worth dying for_ , he thinks, _and Derek Morgan’s skin against mine is one of them._

“Your orders will be back soon.” The waitress stumbles over her words, desperate to get away from the unusual tension. 

Derek just stares at Spencer, his eyes hard and controlled. “Okay,” he says, “I’ll bite. What’s going on with you?”

Spencer looks down at his hands and wonders how long he’s been playing with the ends of his sweater. It’s an old habit but an unconscious one nonetheless. “I’m fine,” He grits though his teeth.

Derek shakes his head. “No you’re not.” He pauses before looking Spencer up and down. “Have you been using again?”

The first thing Spencer registers is how he doesn’t ask with malice. If anything, his tone is softer, more worried than before and Spencer wants to reach out and grab his hands and say _“I’m okay,”_ over and over again until Derek believes it. But he knows if he does, it won’t be for Derek’s sake, it would be for his own.

Because the real answer is: Spencer’s not okay. He can’t sleep, his rampart thoughts go 100mph in the dead of night and he has to turn on nature documentaries to distract himself, has to pray to a god he doesn’t believe in in hopes that he’ll be given a bit of peace. He can only fall asleep if he isn’t lying in silence, every toe-curling thought painfully loud, bouncing against his skull as he tries to block them out, tries to forget about them and lock them away, never to be seen again. Compartmentalization doesn’t work though, and by midnight, his hand is down his boxers and he’s moaning Derek’s name. 

When at last, he falls asleep, he lets himself dream of a dark man pressed against his body and warm whispers against his neck. It takes all of the strength he has to face the object of his affections the next day, to look him in the eye as his eidetic memory recalls every vivid detail from the night before. 

But Spencer can’t say that. He can’t say he’s 76.3% sure that he’s in love with the man in front of him. He can’t say that when he wakes up, going about his day is so _fucking_ hard because his dreams are not reality, no matter how much he desires them to be. And that every time he sees Derek, his heart gets heavy and he feels an odd need to puke, because Derek is not his and _never_ will be. 

“I’m not high.” Spencer spits out, harsher than he intended but Derek doesn’t flinch.

“Okay, then what the hell is going on with you? Is it me? Do you have a problem with me? Because you don’t act this… this _distant_ with the rest of the team.” 

Spencer is silent for a moment. He doesn’t want to say something he regrets, doesn’t want to blurt out that his problem isn’t with Derek but with himself, with his strange, new-found attraction for the other man that he can’t get rid of. When he responds, his voice is quiet, barely a whisper, “Why so you care?”

Derek stares at him in disbelief. “Why do I - why do I care? Excuse me?”

“Why do you care?” Spencer repeats, his voice louder than before. 

Derek scoffs. “Oh, I don’t know why I care! Maybe because I’ve known you for nine years and the last time you acted like this you were _addicted_ to fucking _dilaudid_ and every day that year I was so fucking scared that you were going to die. I was so scared that I would find you, dead with a needle up your arm in your apartment, or in a police station bathroom - don’t think I didn’t see you shooting up in there.” Spencer pales. He didn’t think anyone had known. “And I was so scared that I was going to lose you. Because kid, you mean the world to me. You’re my little brother and I love you. And if you died, I don’t know what I would do.”

And that’s it, that’s when Spencer feels his heart cracking into tiny little pieces. _You’re my little brother,_ plays in his head over and over again. Is Derek still speaking? He can see his perfectly plump lips moving but he can’t hear words. Maybe he’s gone deaf. _How am I going to hear Derek again if I’ve gone dead_ , he thinks before he remembers, _You’re my little brother._ Spencer wants to cry. Is he crying? He can’t tell. _You’re my little brother._ Spencer doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t know how he expected anything other than that, doesn’t know how he got his hopes up so high that maybe Derek felt the same way. _You’re my little brother._ He wants to smack himself for being so stupid. He should’ve put an end to his feelings ages ago, should’ve shut it down the night he encountered the first dream, should’ve buried those awful ‘what if’s’ and forgotten about them. _You’re my little brother._

Spencer can hear himself saying he has to go, making some dumb excuse about old case files. He knows Derek tries to stop him but he doesn’t stay, doesn’t look back. _Derek can pay for the check_ , he thinks bitterly. _After all he’s_ _unknowingly_ _put me through, he can pay the seven dollars for my food_ . Spencer doesn’t know how he got to his car but as he puts in the key and grips the steering wheel til his knuckles turn white, he knows he needs to come back to the present for the moment. He can’t drive in a trance. He remembers how Derek would always be able to pull him back, yank him into the real world. _You’re my little brother._

Spencer wants to scream, wants to stomp his feet and yell like a toddler who was denied his favorite toy. He wants to punch a wall, wants to make a bad, impulsive decision and wants to pay for it. He wants, no scratch that, _needs_ some kind of punishment, some other kind of pain to distract him from his bleeding heart. 

But he isn’t a toddler, he’s a grown man who has an unrequited crush on someone who sees him as a sibling. And he knows, logically, that there are worse things to happen to someone. He’s an FBI agent for god’s sake. He has been _shot_ before and has been _poisoned_ with _anthrax_. He sees death in its tragic form every day, and a broken heart is anything near from it. 

Spencer takes a few deep breaths, calming himself down before putting the car in reverse and backing out. 

When he stumbles through his building, barely able to jam the key in the lock, his legs ready to collapse any moment, he thinks back to all the nights after he was shot, when Derek would help him walk up to his apartment, would help make dinner and then keep Spencer company as they watched Big Bang Theory on his couch. 

Before he knows it, Spencer is curled up on his bed, still in his daytime clothes. _Only 6 hours and 23 minutes ago I was solving a murder_ , he thinks. _How can so much change in so little time?_

His jeans are uncomfortable in his current position and he strips them off, practically tearing at the clothing to get the fabric off of him but right now, his last thoughts are of accidentally ripping his pants.

Once he gets himself settled, his arms wrapped around himself and his head buried in the crook of his arm, the thoughts return. _You’re my little brother and I love you,_ he remembers. He wants to close his eyes and forget it all, wants to erase tonight from his memory and live in his sweet, oblivious bubble. He’d rather lie to himself than face the truth but now there is no denying it. 

Derek Morgan doesn’t love him back or at least, not in the way Spencer wants him to. He thinks of him as a little brother, as a coworker, a teammate, not as a potential partner. Spencer is crushed, no doubt about it, but at least Derek is still there for him, _at least he isn’t dead._ Spencer knows he’ll go into work tomorrow and pretend everything is fine. He will lie to save his dignity and say he felt sick and wanted to go home the night before. He will push away every unwanted thought pertaining to Derek Morgan until the only way Spencer thinks of him is as a brother, as a coworker and as a teammate. 

But tonight, Spencer lets himself be sad, let’s himself wallow in self-pity and self-hatred until he’s numb.

Tonight, he doesn’t need to watch a film on birds to fall asleep, instead, he allows himself to cry, allows himself to let go of every pent up emotion he has bottled up and allows them to overflow like a shook-up bottle of coke. Like the nights before, he drifts off into a slumber encased in wet sheets, this time though, the dampness is from tears and he doesn’t allow himself to dream.

**Author's Note:**

> hi, hope u enjoyed !!  
> any and all feedback is appreciated  
> tumblr @criminal-hotch


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